


Fireworks

by persnickett



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: smallfandomfest, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persnickett/pseuds/persnickett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a night like any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> written for small fandoms fest, for the prompt:  
> It feels so good when he's inside Matt; John wants Matt to know how it feels. It doesn't hurt that Matt makes it look like he's having a hell of a time riding John's dick, and John kinda wonders what that would feel like.

Tonight is a night like any other.  
  
And if their table is lit by flickering candles instead of overhead TVs showing the weekly sports reel, neither of them mentions it. Matt doesn’t comment if there’s goat cheese salads instead of deep fried pickles, and if he uses a fork to eat his French fries, well, John doesn’t say a word.  
  
No. This is a night like any other, and they both know all the moves. It’s the tip of Matt’s sneaker bumping up against the toe of John’s boot under the table. It’s John’s hand on the back of Matt’s neck in the cab, and it’s Matt leaning into it, wine-drunk and chatty, letting his knees fall wide enough apart his right one is touching John’s left.  
  
Then it’s John’s key in the door, and Matt’s tongue in his mouth, the moment they can get it shut behind them. When they hit the bedroom, John knows where to put his hands and just the right things to murmur into Matt’s ear.  
  
When the clothes are all off and the sheets are starting to tangle, he knows the only end to the exquisite torture that is the things Matt can do to him with his mouth, and the places those knowing fingers can find, will be to push his own fingers deep into the soft mop of hair trailing ticklishly over his skin, and to tug.  
  
He knows, like the next line in a familiar tune, the triumphant grin that will be in place when he does. When Matt will tip his head back willingly, waiting for the inevitable “C’mere”.  
  
And when he says it, he knows he won’t get that mouth back without a stop for a kiss – or perhaps a few – over the knotted maze of flesh that used to be a perfectly good shoulder, once.  
  
He knows it’s not the _feel_ of soft, kiss-plump lips over the scars – some years old, now, some newer – but the intention behind it, that makes that subtle shudder run down his spine. The one he always tries to hide. The one that always makes Matt smile warmly into his skin anyway.  
  
John knows when he cups Matt’s jaw, runs his thumb over Matt’s mouth before he draws him back in, that the kiss will be gentle, but the next one will not. There will be teeth next, and panting, heated breath, and when his thumb drifts down over Matt’s adam’s apple and smoothes over the knot in his collar bone, the kiss will break.  
  
But the action definitely won’t stop. The look in Matt’s eye will be wild; black with pupil, and the hand at the base of his throat will not stop the kid getting what he wants. A firm two-handed grip on the ass will bring John’s hips down hard, where Matt can reach down and wrap a hand around both of their shafts, or angle himself just right, where that tightly erect prick can rub rhythmically against John’s thigh.  
  
So hard, Matt always gets. So young. So demanding and eager and still a little too mouthy, even in bed, and so utterly, utterly, intoxicatingly _Matt_.  
  
John loves the way Matt gets when they do this. He loves to watch the way the flush begins on his chest, and climbs up into his cheeks. He loves the big, wide eyed look like his approaching orgasm is coming somehow as a surprise, and the way his grinding rhythm goes frantic and his mouth goes filthy.  
  
Neither of them is going to last long this way though, so John eases away and into the next step of their dance. Making his way down the brittle column of Matt’s windpipe, where the scratch of stubble and slick slide of his tongue will make Matt grunt and moan. Sliding a hand up the warm, living plane of Matt’s ribcage, where the tweak of a rough thumb over a nipple will make teeth grit together and fingernails dig in.  
  
So when Matt’s breath goes ragged and the moans turn into curses, John knows what he’s after when he squirms away. He lets him go – rolling toward the bedside table, fumbling sex-drunkenly a little with the drawer-pull before he can get it open and retrieve the lube.  
  
Oh, John loves the way Matt fucks, too. And not just the feel. It’s the way Matt bites his lip as John pushes in, the look of concentration like the things he’s feeling inside are too complicated to quite work out. He’s known himself to get absolutely mesmerized by the way Matt looks when they get going, riding him hard and fast with his head thrown back, his skin shining and hairline damp with exertion. He loves the way the pleasure seems to break Matt in half when it hits, crumpling him into a little boneless pile on top of his chest. And he loves the way Matt’s body pulses and contracts, pulling at him, drawing him deeper like it wants more of him, every ounce John’s got to give.  
  
But tonight, John reaches out and catches him by the wrist before he can hand the little bottle over.  
  
“Maybe tonight you could show me how this stuff works,” he says, with a little push of the bottle in Matt’s hand back toward his chest.  
  
“Oh,” Matt says, with a sly little grin, as an eyebrow quirks upward in mock surprise. “Wanna watch huh? A little kinky for a straight-laced conservative member of New York’s Finest.” Matt pulls his knees up, spreads them provocatively. “You know I enjoy the way you get me ready, but I’m always up for a little—”  
  
“I mean,” John says, “Maybe you could…show me.” He lets a knee fall to the side, so that his own legs splay a little wider apart.  
  
“Oh,” Matt says again. The grin is gone now. “Oh, I. Yeah, yes,” he stammers. “Okay. …Yeah.”  
  
John’s grip on his wrist feels suddenly clammy. He lets go. “I mean, if you don’t want—“  
  
“No,” Matt says hurriedly. “No, no. I want.” Matt’s eyes travel the length of his body, and there’s a new look there John isn’t sure how to read.  
  
Matt puts the bottle aside and moves to run both his hands up the length of John’s thighs.  
  
“You’re sure?” He asks, looking searchingly into his face.  
  
John shrugs. Because he might never be sure. But then he grabs the back of Matt’s head and pulls him close again anyway, because he used to be sure he _didn’t_ want to try this, and now… Well, let’s just say Matt has changed his mind about a lot of things, and he had a way of making this one look a hell of a lot more fun than eating raw fish _and_ shopping online.  
  
The mood is changed now, when they get back to business. Matt is all soft stroking touches, and long lingering looks, and each kiss feels like it’s slower than the last. Matt’s aim could be seduction, or maybe something else, and by the time he reaches for the lube again, John is so riled up he feels like he could snap.  
  
Matt makes such a meal of sliding the first finger in – cupping the globes of John’s ass with both hands first, moving a single finger in to make light stroking motions over and over the bulls-eye, eventually switching to swirling around and around the outside. When Matt finally, finally decides to make his move, it goes in like nothing, and John realizes, with a slight throb of his temples, that he has been clenching his teeth.  
  
He demands a second finger, but his patience doesn’t hold out long for that either. And when John flips himself over on hands and knees and insists it’s time they get to the main event, Matt seems surprised but willing – thank God – and opts for a second dose of the lube.  
  
It doesn’t help.  
  
This is nothing like Matt’s fingers; this blunt pressure, this pull and stretch and shifting of flesh. Matt asks him to breathe, and he does. He even hears Matt taking a couple long, slow breaths himself. But it feels wrong, like things aren’t going where they should. It’s nothing like the way Matt made it look all those nights before tonight, and John’s halfway sure it isn’t supposed to _burn_ like this.  
  
Holding his position is starting to make his arms tremble and they haven’t even gotten started yet. His knees aren’t feeling so hot either. He tries pushing backward, but it only tips Matt off balance and gets him an elbow in the spine.  
  
“Whoa. Easy,” Matt soothes, but at this point the soft, unfailingly patient tone is anything but calming.  
  
“Forget it,” John pants, dropping his head between his shoulders in defeat. “I can’t do this. Just forget it.”  
  
“What?” Matt laughs a little and it’s weird, because John can feel it. “You can shoot yourself in the shoulder but you can’t take a little— so, okay it’s not _that_ little, but—OW!”  
  
“…You alright?” John grunts, putting his complaining shoulder to the mattress and rolling onto his side. He hadn’t meant to wrench away quite that abruptly.  
  
“What do you think? My dick was in there, man!” Matt grouses, coming to lie next to him anyway.  
  
“Really? All the way in?”  
  
“Mmmm…No.”  
  
“Half?” he tries, to which Matt only squishes up his nose in a rueful expression that says ‘not even close’.  
  
“Shit.” John sighs. “Sorry kid, it seemed like a good idea.”  
  
“Maybe if you let me prep you properly like I was trying to, it would be.” Matt accuses, “But you had to get all control-freaky and McClane-y…”  
  
“Somebody had to!” John argues back, on instinct. “You were moving too slow.”  
  
Matt rolls his eyes, flops onto his back in exasperation. “It’s called being a gentleman, okay?” And if the mood wasn’t already killed, it’s practically flatlining now.  
  
“…Was starting to think you maybe didn’t want to,” John admits.  
  
Matt looks back at him, and then down at his crotch, which is still impressively pointing more or less skyward. “How can you look at this, and think that I don’t want to?”  
  
John sighs, rolls over onto his back beside Matt and looks up at the ceiling. “You got…weird, alright? Just because I wanna do this, doesn’t mean everything has to change.”  
  
“Sorry,” Matt says, not sounding sorry at all, and John can practically see the way his bushy eyebrows are furrowing together in consternation without even turning to look at him. “Who’s changing what, now?”  
  
“Suddenly you gotta be a ‘gentleman’?” John scoffs. “The last thing I need is you turning me into some kind of g—”  
  
“So help me,” Matt interrupts sharply, rolling onto his side toward him again. “If you say this is too ‘gay’ right now—”  
  
“I wasn’t gonna say that.”  
  
“Because we’ve been doing this, what,” Matt stops, his expression going slightly shifty for a second, “eight, maybe nine, months or so?”  
  
“Somethin’ like that,” John says grudgingly, and then bites his tongue. Because tonight is a night just like any other, and if Matt doesn’t remember how many of these nights there have been, then it’s sure as hell not going to help his case for what he’s about to say next, if he starts citing the dates of each and every one of their relationship milestones.  
  
“Something like that,” Matt is agreeing hastily now. “And if you can’t say the words by now…”  
  
“I wasn’t going to say ‘gay’!” John barks, before the evening can go any further off the rails. “I wasn’t gonna say that. I was going to say that just because I thought maybe it was time we tried something else, didn’t mean I needed you to get all soft and awkward and start pretending you’re with some kind of… gigantic...hairy… Girl.”  
  
“A girl? Seriously?” Matt says, with a lifted eyebrow in the direction of John’s now-mostly-soft dick. “SERIOUSLY?” he repeats, placing two cupped hands on his chest over a pair of non-existent breasts. “You are a _travesty_ of a poor excuse for a girl, John McClane.” Matt flattens his hands, lets his fingers tangle in the greying patch of hair on John’s chest. “With all of this Fifty Shades going on,” he comments idly, giving a little tug, “you have to admit you’ve crossed over into the fullness of mature womanhood many moons ag—OOF!” Matt laughs into a sudden faceful of down and cotton.  
  
“You know,” he says, grinning, when John lets him up again, “for somebody who doesn’t want to be mistaken for a girl, you sure are instigating a lot of pillow fights.”  
  
John is seriously starting to regret his choice of words for trying to explain this whole thing.  
  
“I just meant I don’t need you to change anything. You’re no _gentleman_ , Matty.”  
  
“Watch it,” Matt warns playfully, and John thinks finally they might be getting this whole explanation back on track.  
  
“I like what you do,” he says, low, and the grin slides off Matt’s face. “I like the way you lose all your patience and get all bossy with the lube when you want to fuck. I like the way you ride me. Hard and fast. I like the way you moan, and how you sweat…”  
  
“Huh,” Matt says huskily, blinking eyes that look like they may have gone a little out of focus. “Well. Tomorrow you can bend me in half and fuck me hard and sweaty as per usual.” Matt waits for a smile, and John gives him half of one. “Sorry if I got a little too emo to butch things up tonight. But I’m not changing any time soon, McClane. I’m just…happy.”  
  
“Yeah?” The half smile becomes a whole.  
  
“Yeah.” Matt smiles back, nodding. “I used to think you might never want to try this. Now you’re comfortable enough with me to at least consider letting it be a thing that we do. That’s…pretty cool.”  
  
“Well you sure do make it look good,” John admits.  
  
“I suppose I have my occasional charms,” Matt replies drily.  
  
“And let me tell you…” John moves closer, so he can say it in Matt’s ear. “How it feels don’t suck either. It’s such a hot, tight little spot to get into. Takes a little work, but it’s soooo worth the wait. Sometimes, I actually see stars.”  
  
“Oh God,” Matt moans, and that still-so-hard young prick gives a little nudge toward the ceiling. “Please tell me you’re at least considering it again.”  
  
“I think I could get back on board.” John grins wolfishly.  
  
“Oh thank God,” Matt says, rolling toward him to put a gentle hand on his hip and a slightly less gentle kiss on his mouth. “You just have to relax this time.”  
  
“Cut that girly gentleman shit out. Start with at least two fingers this time,” John taunts.  
  
“Okay tough guy,” Matt says, and surprises him by doing exactly what he’s told without wasting a second’s time. “You like that?”  
  
“Much better,” John grates stubbornly, taking Matt’s mouth in a hard kiss. Matt kisses back for a second or two, and then suddenly he’s doing this sort of crooking thing with his fingers, and this tough guy finds that maybe he _does_ like it. “Uhh. Oh yeah,” he huffs, “much, much better.”  
  
Matt laughs into their next kiss, and does that thing again. And again, and again.  
  
By the time they get back to where they left off before, John is so riled up again that he feels like he just might snap – but this time in the best possible way.  
  
Matt shoves him onto his back this time, so John can watch him work, but the second time around it doesn’t take nearly as long. Matt presses in hard and smooth, stopping only once – for a breath and a curse, and to say he doesn’t think he can do this – and John slaps him on the ass and says if he can hack into a top clearance government database he can sure as hell get into his boyfriend’s asshole.  
  
And Matt laughs, and John feels it, which isn’t weird at all. And when he takes another breath and is buried to the hilt, the things it makes John feel inside maybe _are_ a little too complicated to work out. When they get going, Matt fucks him hard and fast with his head thrown back, his skin shining and hairline damp with exertion, and when the pleasure finally, finally hits, John does wonder if it might break him in two.  
  
And he thinks, as Matt collapses in his regular, sweaty little pile on top of John’s chest, that it’s a night like any other – and like nothing they’ve done before.  
  
It takes them a little while to come down. There are bright spots behind his eyes, and muffled booms and crackles filling the fog in his head until John’s brain clears out enough to realize the sound is real, and filtering in from the direction of the window.  
  
Fireworks. Outside, somebody on the block must be starting off the long weekend with a good old fashioned Fourth of July barbecue.  
  
But inside this bedroom, it’s just a night like any other.  
  
And then Matt catches his breath enough to form words again.  
  
“Hey McClane,” he says, panting only ever so slightly. “...Happy Anniversary.”

 

.


End file.
